


Colors Abound

by arianakristine



Series: Gremma Doctors AU [2]
Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Hospital, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Doctor AU, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-10
Updated: 2016-07-10
Packaged: 2018-07-22 19:46:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,688
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7451740
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/arianakristine/pseuds/arianakristine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Gremma Doctors AU. Clips of the life of Drs. Emma Swan and Graham Humbert.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Colors Abound

**Author's Note:**

> Semi-experimental style, set post-Optimism. Written for a prompt for the first day of Gremma Appreciation Week.

 

*

**Pink**

                The new scrubs were pink with a sharp line of red to hem them, and she imagined the stains that would immediately cover it in this wing as she donned them the first time.

                The attending was good, if coarse, gum snapping each time she spoke once they were out of surgery. The others were serious and eager, in general pleasant coworkers to have.

                She was told by her advisor that _this_ was what she was meant for.

                But she could only think of internal medicine. She only thought of cardiology.

                Her nails were bitten down to the quick, scrubbed bright each time she entered and left the OR.

                He was flushed when he ran to see her after her first week of the fellowship, and she studied the color of his lips for a long time before she blurted out, “I want to go back to CICU.”

                Those lips quirked up and he pulled out a small rose-colored card from behind his back, children’s scrawls across the front. “They miss you, too.”

 

**Orange**

                The sun was setting, the sky a warm fiery color. It was chilled but manageably so, a calm end to their stressful day.

                He laid with his head in her lap, tossing an apricot back and forth in his hands, brow furrowed.

                “What’s got you so quiet?” she murmured, pulling her fingers through the long strands of his curls.

                She didn’t want to break the simple peace that had captured them, but she wanted to know what had changed the glow of his personality to this thoughtful silence that overtook him.

                “Halloween in a few weeks,” he said simply.

                She thought back to a ward covered in orange and black construction paper, of a boy bouncing excitedly on a bed. “Oh,” she said simply.

                “We should make Jack-o-lanterns again,” he said matter-of-factly.

                She shook her head, dread filling her as Michael’s gap-toothed grin flashed through her mind. “No more,” she said, crushing a dry leaf between her fingers.

                He looked up and brought a hand to cup her cheek. His eyes were clear, perhaps for the first time when talking about him, even peripherally. “There’s others that’d like it.”

                Her stomach clenched, but finally she nodded. Optimism, _right_. “Okay,” she agreed almost inaudibly.

                They’d end up filling the pediatric overflow nurse’s station with brightly colored pumpkins, end to end.

 

**White**

                His knuckles were white, rolling up to pale grey and finally to flesh again. His grip was strong against the counter, eyes screwed up. When they opened, the whites were shot through with crimson, jaw tight but barely quivering.

                “You don’t have to go,” she assured softly, rolling her palm up his arm. “You don’t owe them anything.”

                His lashes fluttered across his cheeks and he nodded jerkily, fingers coloring as he pulled one hand free to rest gently on hers.

                “What would you do?” he asked, voice hoarse and gravelly.

                She shook her head, a chill of _nothing_ that echoes within her like a ghost of feeling. “My parents are dead. It’s not the same.”

                He blew out a low breath and picked up his phone. His finger hovered over the email before he finally clicked delete, the empty inbox filling the screen instead.

                There was a white-heat to his kiss, as he pulled her close and drank her in, a touch of pale that colors through the insistence. She followed his lead, scooting up onto the porcelain sink and letting the loose button-up that covered her fall to the floor.

 

**Blue**

                The words seemed to glare, a bright blue ‘N’ against clear backdrop all she needed to see. Liquid stung the back of her throat, closing in until her lips matched and she finally sucked the air in again.

                It shouldn’t have disappointed her, the “not” that read so plainly. It wouldn’t have been planned, it wouldn’t have been ideal, it would have been too much of a surprise right in the middle of her fellowship.

                She looked up to find cobalt, serious and steady. She shook her head, a quick no that she knew he didn’t need to see.

                “We can t—… if you want,” the words stumbled oh-so-cautiously, oh-so- _hopefully_ out of his mouth.

                She pressed against the angry bruise at her thigh, pushing hard against it, until the grey-blue of his eyes was a blur. “Forget it.”

 

**Yellow**

                Her hair curtained over her palm, gold against gold as she studied it in the dim. It still glowed, a deep sheen that caught the barest glimpse of light.

                “So, it’s not a wedding ring,” she said.

                “Nope.”

                “And not an engagement ring.”

                “Huh uh.”

                “Don’t tell me it’s a promise ring,” she asked, the scowl on her face betrayed by the brightness in her eyes.

                He raised a single brow, the sun glinting off the curls it disappeared into. “Do I know you at _all_?”

                She let him put the ring on her finger, and knew that even if it was none of those things, it still meant the same thing in the end.

                And she was pretty happy with that.

 

**Green**

                The room was painted mural-style, leafy trees and long blades of grass.

                Her hands were on her hips, surveying the finished product, when he came in. He caught her around the waist and pressed a kiss into the nape of her neck as he looked around. “I think he’ll like it.”

                “Mm,” she murmured, hopeful but also nervous. “It’ll be ready when he gets here next week.”

                “You set up the meeting?” he asked.

                She nodded. “Social worker makes the first visit on the ninth.”

                Her stomach was flopping, her skin a pale green as she worried about what was left to do, what was to come. There was so much that could still go wrong, not the least being her own abilities to raise a human.

                But he turned their bodies, and she caught her own ocean-shaded eyes in the mirror before meeting his darker ones. He had a smile on his face, the quiet kind that spoke more to reverence than pleasure. “You’re going to be great at this.”

                She swallowed back her fear, and grasped his hand tightly. “ _We’ll_ be great at this.”

 

**Black**

                The stray that looked like pitch loved to sit on the windowsill of Henry’s room.

                It would lay in the sun and soak the rays into her dark fur, batting the insects that dared to come too close.

                Emma had hissed it away the first few times, when she had been up long hours from the four-month-old’s colic and in no mood to have the animal around. Graham had noticed it, too, but he had been more accepting of it, insisting that it was keeping away any critters that might come in the night by their child’s room.              

                She finally gave up when it returned, lazing around, each and every morning.

                One afternoon, she sat in the rocker holding a screaming Henry in her arms and felt like crying herself. Her eyes were red-rimmed, and she was truly worried that Henry was just _unhappy_ here, that she was _wrong_ , just as she’d _always_ assumed, that no matter how much they loved him that she would _never_ be right, when finally the baby began to coo.

                She had sobbed at the sound, the gentle vowels of happiness that escaped her son. She brushed back his straight fuzzy hair and grinned through her tears, relief pooling into her bones so much that she felt faint.

                He cooed again, and a loud purring from the window made her turn. The cat was pressed against the screen, black fur coating it as she rubbed against the sill. Her large eyes were trained on the baby, slowly blinking in contentment.

                Then Henry turned toward Emma again, twisting and making that precious noise again, hands reaching for gobs of her hair and smiling a wide, toothless grin.

                She brought the cat in that night.

 

**Grey**

                Graham tended to look a little ashen on the more difficult days.

                His practice was small, budding. She knew he loved his job, just as much as she did, and knew he would thrive in those pewter-colored halls. He had always been better attuned to kids that he ever been with adults.

                But working with sick children still meant _losing_ sick children, every now and again. She saw the toll it took on him, each time. He would pad into the house, shedding his coat and pressing a long, heavy kiss to her temple. She’d help chase away the shadows with hands and lips, until he’d even out to something more to normal.

                Then he’d shower and change into casual clothes, heather-grey cotton loose around his neck. He’d pick up Henry, tuck the little man into his arms, and that slate color would melt away.

                His deep eyes would meet hers over the top of the boy’s head, silver glinting across to show just how happy their family made him.

 

**Purple**

                The cake was black with a purple stethoscope, ‘Congrats’ scrawled across in plum. It matched the deepness of the night once the celebration had ended and all the guests had left.

                Henry had been asleep for hours, chubby arms curled around poor Viola. The cat had watched with dark eyes when she’d half shut the door after checking in, but didn’t move from her place near the toddler.

                Emma’s feet were up on the railing, hand tangled with Graham’s. The baby monitor sat on the side table, the soft breathing sounding over the static. Her thumb rolled across the veins in his wrist, curling up and winding down.

                She felt content, warm and buzzing with happiness.

                “Where’s your head, Miss Attending?” he asked, a teasing to his tone.

                She sighed and leaned her head onto his shoulder, saying nothing, wondering if he noticed the untouched wine next to her plate.

                Finally, she took his hand and placed it over her, setting firmly between her hipbones.

                He froze, turning wide dark eyes to hers. “You—“

                She didn’t get a chance to answer his non-question, a bruising kiss cutting off her words.

 


End file.
